Episode 23 Bad Day for a Thirst
by KayDee35
Summary: TV episode with added scenes to make it a good read. Script consulted as well.


23 Bad Day for a Thirst transcript

 **Bad Day for a Thirst**

Buck and Manolito rode over the ranch together. They did not have much to do this morning. They were only supposed to keep an eye on the warriors who were roaming the area and warn the other ranch hands in time of any danger. Since they rode over relatively flat land and there was nobody in sight, they had got bored and had started to exchange pub songs.

"La gallina está muerto", they sang in Spanish.

Mano stopped. "Hey, Buck, let's try it in English."

They did, even more off-key than before, when they suddenly heard bleating noises. Mano raised his hand and motioned for his brother-in-law to be quiet. Riding up the next hill, they looked around.

"No wonder we've been losing so many strays," Manolito commented.

Below them on the flats, two Indians were chasing a calf. They were holding it by the tail, but the calf pulled them along, screaming at the top of its voice for its mother. When no help came, it stopped and kicked out with its hind legs. The pursuers were forced to let go of the tail to keep their shins intact. But they continued to run after the calf. They caught the tail again, and the spectacle repeated.

Buck reached into his saddlebags for his binoculars. "Why, they're hardly more than a couple of kids," he chuckled and handed the glasses to Mano. "I don't think they ride with Cochise. They're a couple of young drifters. I guess when they're hungry, they steal a couple of cows."

"Buck, shall we teach these niños a lesson?" Manolito asked with a grin and took his lasso.

Putting a hand on his friend's shoulder, Buck grinned back. "Mano, all right. It's a good day for it."

"Vamonos!"

They galloped down the embankment. Swinging his whip, Mano went after the smaller boy in the faded purple shirt. The whipcord coiled around the boy's waist and pulled the Apache to the ground. The boy rolled free, jumped back to his feet and drew his knife. Mano circled him on horseback. He aimed, threw the whip again, and the knife flew from the boy's hand.

Buck meanwhile followed the Apache in the yellow shirt. This one just ran away as fast as he could. Buck threw his lasso over the boy's head and slowly pulled it tight, trapping the arms. Panting heavily, the Apache finally stopped.

"Easy boy, come on. I ain't gonna hurt you. Here, I take that off you." Buck spoke in a calm voice while he dismounted and unfastened the lasso. The Apache seemed to understand him, or at least the tone, because he gave up his resistance.

Buck led his protégé to Manolito and the other Apache boy. "Mano", he addressed his brother-in-law, then turned back to the Apache. "Come on, boy. Now, you just take it easy. Me and Mano are friends. We ain't gonna hurt you. No need to be afraid." Buck gently pushed the boys down. They sat side by side, panting, and looked up at him.

"They're pretty upset," Manolito remarked without surprise. Livestock being the basis of their existence, such theft was severely punished by the ranchers. And they hardly showed any mercy towards Indians.

"We didn't mean to hurt you. Me and Mano just want to be friends," Buck reassured the boys. "Where's that knife?" he asked his brother-in-law. Manolito gave it to him, and Buck handed it back to the boy, then sat down on the ground in front of the Apaches. "We apologise for the rope, but we're your friends, Mano and me."

Manolito nodded emphatically as he sat down beside his brother-in-law. He pointed at Buck, then at himself. "Cannon, Montoya. Brothers," he explained and made the Indian sign, raising his index and ring finger of his right hand and extending his arm in a slight curve. "Amigos, hermanos," he added in Spanish.

"Yes, exactly." Buck repeated the gesture. "Well, Mano, we got 'em," he laughed after a pause, then his face fell.

"What's the matter?" his friend asked.

"I was just thinking. Now that we got 'em, what are we gonna do with them, hm?"

"They are skilled at catching cattle," Manolito said slowly, and Buck nodded in agreement. Mano smiled. "Too bad they could not make vaqueros. They could save you the trip to Tucson every other week."

His friend laughed at first, then he became thoughtful. "Mano, that ain't a bad idea."

Waving his hand dismissively, Manolito laughed as well.

"No, Mano," Buck said pensively. "I mean- maybe they'd- they'd make good cowpunchers, maybe."

His friend stared at him. "You're not serious. No one- _no one_ ever tamed an Apache."

Buck nodded. "No one ever tried before. I mean, the High Chaparral needs every cowpuncher we can get."

"You cannot take Apaches back to the High Chaparral, hombre." Mano firmly shook his head.

"These are youngsters." Buck nodded towards the boys. "All they need is a little understanding."

Manolito shook his head again. "Buck-"

"Like a young colt. You train them, you give them a good teacher. Oh, underneath that all, I bet you, they're as gentle as day-old lambs," Buck insisted. He glanced at the Apaches who were still breathless from the hunt and the shock that they had been caught. Then he looked back to Mano. "Believe me, I'm right."

"Day-old lambs. Well, maybe," Mano admitted with a shrug. "But your brother, he will not agree with that."

"We can call them Uncle Buck's bucks," his friend grinned cockily.

Manolito realised that the idea had taken hold and that Buck would not be dissuaded any more. Sighing, he put a hand on his best's friend chest. Putting the other hand on Buck's shoulder, he looked him seriously in the eyes. "Do me a favour, right, amigo?"

Buck smiled. "Sí, sí."

"Do not get me involved in this problem." Mano stood resolutely, took his lasso and went back to Mackadoo. He was not ready yet to deal with Apaches again. Just a few weeks ago he had passed their test of courage in order to free a slave girl whom his friend had wanted to rescue. But this time, Buck would be on his own. Besides, it could be a ruse. Cochise was a wily old fox. It was quite possible that he had sent these boys as spies to find the weaknesses in the defence of the High Chaparral. Just because Mano had passed the test did not mean that the Apaches had resigned themselves to accept John Cannon on their land. It only meant that they now respected him a bit more than before.

"Don't worry," Buck told him, looking up to him.

"Adios," Manolito retorted – and then waited impatiently for Buck to follow him.

"Big John will like it," Buck called out stubbornly.

Mano shook his head. "Oh no, he won't."

"He will like the idea," Buck insisted. "I think," he added in a quieter tone. But really, Big John was in no position to tell anyone off. He himself had once welcomed two Apaches on the ranch. Sure, Nock-Ay-Del and his companion had only wanted to negotiate, but was that so different? They had come to the ranch, and John had invited them. And if Apaches were welcome as guests, why not as a ranch hands as well?

Buck looked back towards his protégés. "You boys will like it. I think. And it really is a good idea. I think." He felt suddenly unsure, but he did not know what else to do with these boys. If he let them go, they would only steal more cattle. If not on the High Chaparral, then on some other ranch. And the people there would hang them. Buck thought that they deserved a chance. They must be about sixteen, he mused. Rising, he motioned for the boys to follow him. The river was nearby. He would take them there and question them.

The Apaches sat down on the shore, drank from the cool water and watched in silence as Buck and Mano cooked lunch.

Buck brought them each a plate. "Now, listen, you two. I think our introduction was a bit one-sided, so let's do it properly. I'm Buck Cannon, and my friend back there," Buck jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the fire, "is Manolito Montoya. I'd like to know what to call you." Sitting down, he handed the Apaches the plates, and the boys started to wolf down their meal.

Mano slowly came over with two more plates and sat down beside his brother-in-law, handing one plate to Buck. When no answer was forthcoming, Buck turned to Mano with a grin. "If they won't tell us what they are called, we'll just have to name them ourselves."

The younger Apache in the faded purple shirt finally looked up. "We not want names of white eyes," he said firmly.

"All right." Buck shrugged. "Then just tell me your Apache names."

As the boys shook their heads in unison, Buck looked questioningly at them.

"Name is holy. Only friends and relatives know it," the younger boy explained.

"They keep their names secret to protect themselves against evil magic," Manolito put in. "Anyone who knows your real name can use it to bewitch you."

"Oh, I see." Buck looked thoughtful. A moment later he grinned. "Then we'll just have to give them nicknames." Starting in on his meal, he watched the Apaches. After a while he elbowed his brother-in-law in the ribs. "Hey, Mano, the one you caught looks as sour as the bread he is munching. Let's call him Sourdough. As for the other… His shirt's the same colour as my saddle blanket… That's it. Saddleblanket." Buck nodded enthusiastically. "I herewith baptise them Sourdough and Saddleblanket."

Mano shook his head. "One day they will get their revenge for this insult, amigo. You mark my words."

Buck shrugged good-naturedly. "I don't mean no insult. It's just a little friendly teasing. They have to have names. If we just call 'Hey, you' all the time, even the cows will turn around by the end of the week," he laughed.

Manolito had to smile as well. "You have a point, compadre."

"Buck, you really want to take them to the High Chaparral?" Mano asked after they had finished their meal.

His brother-in-law nodded resolutely and motioned for the Apaches to mount Rebel. Buck himself swung up behind Mano on Mackadoo. Manolito shook his head once more but nudged his horse onwards, leading the way.

They dismounted at the corral. Buck took each Apache by an arm and led the boys towards the house. Mano followed grudgingly.

"You wait here," Buck told them.

Manolito knew he had been included in the order. He sat down in a chair on the porch and looked sullenly over the ranch. Their backs to the wall, the Apaches watched Buck disappear into the house, then stared unblinkingly ahead. They saw more ranch hands coming and stiffened, feeling decidedly uneasy, now that Buck Cannon was not there to explain what they were doing here.

"John," Buck shouted as soon as he had closed the door behind him. "I scared up two new ranch hands for you."

"Yes?" Big John asked excitedly as he came from his office. "Where did you find them?"

"Mano and I caught them as they tried to steal a calf. But you know-" Buck raised his hand when he saw his brother's face darken. "They're no ordinary cattle rustlers. I brought them to the ranch with me. They're outside, on the porch. If you care to take a look?" He made an inviting gesture.

Big John glanced out of the window. "Your thieves are Apaches," he grated.

"Sure, John." Buck sat down on the stairs.

His brother turned to him with a grim face. "Now, you have pulled some pretty stupid tricks in your time, but this is the worst."

Buck looked up pleadingly. "John, would you give me one minute to explain?"

"Why don't we ride to the Chiricahuas, invite the whole Apache nation?" the rancher asked indignantly.

His wife was tidying the bedroom. She recognised the voices and came to the stairs.

"John, you're missing the point," she heard Buck say.

"The point?" Big John snapped, leaning towards his brother. "The point is you've been in the sun too long. That's the point."

Buck shook his head. "Will you just give me a chance?"

The rancher rolled his eyes. "All right, you've got your chance. Go ahead," he demanded, looking away.

"Thank you, big brother." Buck grimaced, then took a deep breath to calm himself. If he exploded or made a cutting remark, he would get nowhere. Big John could only be persuaded by facts. Aiming for a neutral expression, Buck gestured towards the porch. "Well, first of all, these are just youngsters, see? They're drifters. They don't belong to no war party, nothing like that." Buck began to smile. "They're just youngsters. John, you should have seen how they put away that bowl of chili. It would have warmed your heart. They hadn't et in days."

The rancher shook his head. "But Buck, Apaches working on a ranch," he said in a fairly neutral voice.

"What harm would it do?" Victoria put in, coming down the stairs and walking towards her husband.

John graced her with a smile. "You know, Victoria, you have got beautiful hair."

"Thank you." His wife beamed. She loved it when her husband complimented her, even though she could not fathom his reason at the moment.

"I wouldn't want to see it decorating the end of an Indian war lance," Big John continued.

Victoria made a horrified face, and Buck looked away, feeling offended.

"Well, neither would I," Victoria rallied after a moment. "But on the other hand, whatever future we have is ours to share together. That means the Apache, too." She lowered her head. But she still noticed John's suddenly thoughtful expression and Buck staring at her in astonishment. Victoria raised her head again and looked her husband innocently in the eyes. "Isn't that what you have always said?"

"Hm," John grunted. He turned aside to mull the argument over. His wife had a point. This was indeed what he always said, and at the moment he did not know how to counter her. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Victoria shooting his brother a smug look, and Buck's hopeful expression. When he turned back to them, they hurriedly blanked their faces.

"All right, Buck." John clasped his hands behind his back. "Let's see your ranch hands."

"Yes, sir, Big John," Buck stuttered in surprise. Getting up, he took off his hat. "Thank you, Victoria, ma'am." Then he turned to John. "Thank you."

When Buck was out of the door, the rancher gave his wife a stern look. Victoria lowered her head and began twiddling her fingers.

While Buck argued with his brother, Ira, Reno and Pedro headed for the porch.

"Ah, Manolito," Pedro grinned, pointing at the Apache boys. "Quiénes son tus amigos?"

"Pedro, shut your mouth when you're drunk," Mano snapped back in Spanish.

Pedro realised that Señor Montoya could not take a joke in this case. But he was not miffed. He smiled at Mano and shut up.

His brother in tow, Joe came to the veranda as well to get a closer look at the Apaches. "You don't believe me? Well, here they are," Manolito heard Joe say.

The foreman came to stand in front of Mano. "What's this all about?"

Manolito shrugged and looked away. "Well, this has to do with Buck. It's his problem," he said sullenly.

"That doesn't answer my question," Sam complained.

"Look, ask Buck when he comes out. Don't ask me." Rising, Mano pushed his way through the ranch hands.

Sam followed him. "You can't just leave them here."

Mano shrugged and walked a bit faster. "Sure I can."

"Hey, stay here." Sam took hold of Manolito's arm just as Buck exited the front door.

"Ah, there you are at last," Manolito exclaimed surly.

"Hey, Buck, what's this all about?" Sam asked.

"I can't talk now, Sam. I'll explain it to you later." Buck took the Apaches by the arms. "Boys, the boss wants to see you."

The ranch hands looked at each other in astonishment for a moment, then followed Buck. The hustle and bustle was giving the Apaches the creeps. They tried to break away, but Buck pulled them inexorably towards the door. Mano, in a burst of malice, pushed at them from behind. "Go!"

"No reason to get scared. He won't bite," Buck tried to calm the Apaches. When he had finished his sentence, they had already stepped into the living room.

Buck remained behind his protégés. He placed a hand on each boy's shoulder and looked expectantly at his brother. "Well, here they be, John. They don't speak much English, but they're savvy a lot." To hide his own nervousness, he brushed a non-existent lint off the taller boy's shirt. "The last time they worked was about a month ago at the Tumacácori mission, and- they ain't worked since," he finished meekly.

Victoria leaned forward. "The mission?" she asked excitedly.

Buck nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

John looked questioningly at his wife.

"That's a good sign. The fathers trust them," Victoria explained. She went to her brother who had taken up position by the window and turned to stand beside him. "Once we fatten them up a little bit and get them into some working clothes, why, they will be fine," she said, beaming all over her face.

"Oh yes, ma'am," Buck agreed enthusiastically with her. "Once we get clothes on them, they'll look a lot better, John."

Mano made a face. Appearance had nothing to do with behaviour.

"They got names?" the rancher demanded.

"Of course they got names, John. Everybody's got a name," Buck laughed. He broke off and glanced at Mano. When his brother-in-law stared at him non-committally, Buck looked back at his brother and continued hesitantly: "Well, of course, you know, not their Apache names. They wouldn't tell me that. 'Cause they won't tell you their Apache names unless they know you real good, and you're a real friend. But Mano and me give 'em some working names. Well, we were only kidding, trying for humour. So, this one we call Sourdough." Buck tapped the younger boy in the purple shirt on the shoulder. Then he nodded to the older boy. "And this one is Saddleblanket."

The Montoya siblings had to smile. Big John on the other hand looked grimly at his brother. "Saddleblanket and Sourdough," he repeated stonily.

"S 'n' S," Buck nodded sheepishly.

The rancher glanced at his brother-in-law. "Mano, you go along with this?"

"Well, Mr. Cannon, I-" Victoria elbowed her brother the in the ribs. Mano shrugged and forced a smile. "Why not, hombre?"

Victoria nodded emphatically.

"All right, Buck, they're all yours," Big John said after a moment's hesitation. When his brother smiled, John crossed his arms over his chest. "Now, you show me how you can turn two Apaches into working cowboys."

The thought sobered Manolito. He had never heard of any case in which it had worked. His remembered his suspicion that this could be a ruse. And now there was no turning back. Big John had taken the boys on as cowpunchers. Mano made a mental note to be doubly vigilant. The ranch hands were able to take care of themselves. They had to, every day, in this country. But Victoria did not have bodyguards on the High Chaparral to protect her. Mano thought of the first Mrs. Cannon. She had been killed by an Apache arrow while leaning out of a bedroom window when she had heard a child crying. Who guaranteed him that his sister would not meet with the same fate?

Buck on the other hand laughed, looking pleased as Punch. "Yes, sir, Big John. I knowed you'd see it my way, John." He pulled his two protégés from the house. "Come on, fellas. That's a door. Out we go."

Manolito followed them, closing said door behind him.

"Now, if you'll excuse me." Big John stalked towards his ranch hands who were still standing around and were only now fully realising that they had just got Apaches as co-workers. And that they had to share their bunkhouse with them. "I think we were talking about working cowboys?" the rancher asked firmly.

"Oh yes, let's go. Of course, we are working cowboys. We always work," the men murmured. They were suddenly in a terrible hurry to get out of the house and escape their boss's ire.

"So long," Reno nodded to the rancher couple as he closed the door.

When they were alone, Victoria turned to her husband. Big John stared at her with a grim expression. His wife looked back apprehensively until the rancher began to smile. After a moment Victoria smiled as well, relieved that her husband was not miffed that she had interfered. But she had just had to help Buck. Besides, she felt sorry for the Apache boys. She knew that life at the mission was not easy, especially not for freedom-loving people. The padres did not only bring the blessings of the holy scriptures, but also strict rules and corporeal punishment. If the boys could settle here, they would be far better off than at the mission. And the High Chaparral would have won two loyal friends. When John opened his arms, Victoria hugged her husband. She had got her wish, but John just could not be angry with her.

Buck took the boys to the tack room to get them some spare clothes and cowboy gear. It was not easy to find something which fit them. They had to try on one shirt after another. Sourdough finally got a pair of brown suede pants which were about two inches too long, a green shirt, a red bandana and a brown hat. Since he did not want to part with his purple headband, he simply put his new hat on top of it. Saddleblanket got too short linen trousers and equally short chaps, a formerly red shirt which now looked a rather faded pink, a yellow neckerchief and a hat which he put likewise over his red headband.

Buck gave them a horse each, then they rode out to the pastures. There, the ranch hands demonstrated how to lasso a cow while Buck and John were putting the branding iron in the fire. Reno and Ira held the cow down. Buck tied its front and hind legs, and his brother branded the cattle. When he was done, John raised his hand, and the ranch hands released the animal.

Buck meanwhile went to the Apache boys. "That cow is done. That's called branding. We make a mark on the cattle. We mark 'em all so we know what are our cows," he explained, then took Sourdough's arm. "You see how simple that is? Now you go pick up one of them irons, right there. Pick up that brand." He pointed to the fire, and Sourdough took the iron.

"Let's see you branding this little fella over here," Buck continued, nodding to a calf which was held down by John, Blue and Joe.

It was not so different from the work at the mission, Sourdough thought as he followed Buck to the animal. Only the constant prayers were missing. And the men here were rough but cordial to each other. He raised the iron.

Buck suddenly grabbed his arm. "No no! Not in his belly. You'll bust his belly. You put it on his rump, right there. Don't you know what a rump is?" Buck asked the boy. He turned to the calf - showing Sourdough his backside - and jabbed his left index finger emphatically to his own bottom. "That's a rump. You put it here. Here!"

Sourdough gently lifted Buck's vest and applied the iron to the rump. The ranch hands held their breath. Buck's trousers began to smoke, burning away the fabric, but the younger Cannon brother only sighed. "I give up on these boys. I swear, I don't know- AAARGH!" Buck jumped into the air, announcing to everybody that the branding iron had reached his skin.

The ranch hands broke into raucous laughter. Blue and Joe, who had been kneeling beside the calf, were rolling on the ground, laughing and gasping for air. Mano barely managed to stay on horseback. "The first ranch hand to get branded," he chuckled, waving his hat and riding in a circle.

Buck turned to Sourdough. He clenched his fist in fury - and passed the boy, walking on to Manolito. However, he passed Mano as well and walked on straight ahead to escape the pain, almost jumping into the air. Joe was still lying on the ground. He pointed his finger at Buck and broke into another fit of laughter. The Apache boys looked at each other with straight faces. Only their eyes betrayed their amusement.

Finally, everybody got himself back under control. Buck had recovered as well. However, to be on the safe side, he mounted his horse. Not wanting it to look as if the joke had got to him, he motioned for Sourdough to mount as well. From horseback they watched how Saddleblanket branded his first cattle. Buck stood up often in the saddle, supposedly to get a better look at the proceedings. This time Blue demonstrated how to handle the branding iron while Mano and Ira held down a steer.

Blue took the iron from the fire and held it out to the Apache. "Okay, Mr. Saddleblanket, let's see you brand him. Just do it like I told you. Right there on the hip."

Saddleblanket took the iron and pressed it to the cattle's rump. Blue pulled the iron back a little. "Brand him, don't barbeque him," he exclaimed quickly.

Saddleblanket held the iron with a little less pressure. "That's pretty good." Blue clasped the Apache on the shoulder, and Saddleblanket smiled at him. "Okay, now go heat it up again," Blue said, pointing at the branding iron.

"All right, you are done. Run along," Ira told the animal as he released it. The steer stood sedately up and trotted off.

"Hey, Saddleblanket," Manolito called out. When the Apache turned to him, Mano shook his hand with a smile. "Bueno, good job, compadre."

"Yes," Buck nodded in satisfaction. It seemed the High Chaparral crew had accepted his protégés as colleagues.

But in the evening, when the Apaches entered the bunkhouse, the men stared at them so hostilely that they preferred to sleep in the corral. That suited Joe and Pedro, who stood guard that night, just fine. This way, they could keep an eye on the boys. In one point, however, ranch hands and Indians agreed unanimously: Buck would not hear about their sleeping arrangements.

The next day Buck became aware of a problem. When he got up, the ranch hands had already ridden out to the pastures. Only Sourdough and Saddleblanket were still standing around in the courtyard. Buck scratched his head. He should have known that no one would want to ride with an Apache. But it was Monday, and on Mondays Buck usually went to town for supplies. Deciding quickly, he took them with him. He drove the wagon while Sourdough and Saddleblanket followed on horseback.

The next day he would have to come up with a task the boys could carry out alone, Buck mused. After a while, an idea struck him. John intended to build a corral on the Sanchez flats, close to Apache country. Buck nodded contentedly to himself. The boys could do that easily. It would not matter if it took a week or a month. Big John was in no hurry yet.

They finally stopped in front of the saloon. "Here we are," Buck said cheerfully. He rose from the driver's seat, turned to the Apache boys - and suddenly did not know what to say. The curious townfolks who were gathering to gape at the savages did not help, either.

"Well now, you boys, Sourblanket, I mean Sourdough- Just a minute." Buck dismounted. The Apache boys remained motionlessly on their horses and stared at the ground. "I mean, we're gonna check the list for supplies, then we's gonna load the wagon. But first I got some important business to attend to," Buck grinned, not wanting to miss out on his pleasure. In his opinion, that was, after all, the only thing which made the trip worthwhile.

As Saddleblanket shot him a glance, Buck nodded emphatically. "You understand? I'll be right back. I mean, don't go away." Tipping his hat, Buck went to the saloon. "Howdy," he greeted the two men who had made themselves comfortable on the bench beside the swinging doors. Before they could answer him, he had already rushed past them.

The town folk kept staring at the Apache boys with mostly hostile gazes. Saddleblanket and Sourdough felt extremely uncomfortable, but they knew that Buck's wagon was the safest place to be. They waited stoically on their horses until the citizens got bored looking at statues. Once everybody went their way again, they dismounted.

Buck meanwhile walked energetically into the saloon. "Hi, Jenny Lee, Mr. Allison," he smiled as he passed the poker table.

Mr. Allison was sitting on Jenny Lee's left-hand side. He was an elderly entrepreneur, a thorough gentleman and always impeccably dressed. Today he was wearing a light blue shirt with a bow tie, a grey jacket and a pair of trousers made of very expensive material. The man in the light brown shirt and dark grey vest sitting on Jenny Lee's right-hand side was Burton. Buck did not know what exactly he did in town, but Burton always had money he could squander. Halliday was sitting next to him. He was wearing a blue shirt, a brown vest and a red bandana. Officially he was an accountant, but he was seen more in the company of Burton than in the company of his books. The fourth player had to be a stranger, Buck mused. He did not even know him from sight.

Buck went straight to the counter. "Herman, let's have a whisky."

Nodding wordlessly, the bartender poured him a glass.

Burton put his cards down and turned around. "Hey, Buck, what's this I heard? John hired a couple of dirty Apaches for ranch hands?"

"You just practice being ornery, Mr. Burton, or do it come natural?" Buck drained his glass to drown his anger.

"I guess you didn't bring them in town with you." Burton sniffed the air, wrinkling his nose, and his round face suddenly made him look like a pig. "Ain't no Apaches in town. The air smells too good," he scoffed.

A few men laughed. Buck thumped his shot glass down on the counter and stared angrily at Burton. Allison and Halliday looked as though they wished they could disappear into the ground, but the scoffer still grinned.

"This is your lucky day, Mr. Burton," Buck said softly, rubbing his chin as if pondering his best course of action. "I promised my brother that I'd behave myself this time in Tucson. But you're making it mighty tough, friend."

Burton suddenly looked as meek as his table companions and dared not answer. He finally realised that he had almost gone too far.

"Oh, he didn't mean nothing by it. Folks are just curious, that's all," Halliday spoke up, attempting to ease the tension. Buck ignored him and continued to stare grimly at Burton.

"Cash me in." Allison put his cards down as well, went to the bar and leaned against the counter beside Buck. "You know, Buck, using those Apaches may solve a lot of problems. I'd use them myself if I thought I could handle them."

"Well, why don't you try it, Mr. Allison?" Buck suggested haltingly, finally tearing his gaze away from Burton. "I mean, they're just a couple of youngsters, but they're eager to learn. And I truly think they'll be good wranglers."

Allison nodded slowly. This was a valid argument. The young people he knew all wanted to make themselves useful.

Buck suddenly grinned. "I'll tell you what. Why don't you come out to the High Chaparral? I mean, come on out tomorrow. - Hello, Sally Dee," Buck greeted a girl who had come to the bar and was hugging her favourite customer from behind. Then he turned back to the entrepreneur. "You come on out, and I'll show you a couple of good future wranglers."

When Allison nodded, Buck accompanied Sally Dee to the back room.

Buck laughingly left the saloon, each arm around a girl. "Well, Sally Belle and Jenny Lee, I truly had me a wonderful time. Thank you very much." He kissed the girl on his left, then turned to the girl on his right-hand side. Kissing her with devotion, he encircled her and searched for her hands which she had hidden behind her back. "Sally, you got something I want. Where's that bottle?" Buck asked with a grin. He took the whisky but still could not separate from her and kissed her again. Then he sighed; duty called. "Adios."

Jenny waved goodbye before she went back into the saloon with Sally. Buck waved as well. When he turned to the wagon, he saw the boys. Arms crossed over his chest, Saddleblanket watched impassively. Sourdough did not look too friendly, either. Buck flinched. He had completely forgot about his protégés. Entering the saloon, he had listened intently, waiting for a riot to break out on the street. But when everything had remained calm, he had relaxed.

"Sun's blinding me," Buck mumbled and raised a hand to shade his eyes while hiding the bottle of whisky behind his back with his other hand. Straightening up, he carefully put one foot in front of the other and made his way without swaying. When he arrived at the wagon, he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry I kept you boys waiting, but I had a lot of important business to do. Of course, I'm not excusing myself, you understand," he pointed out, deliberately shrugging his shoulders. Saddleblanket touched the rattles which hung down Buck's hat.

"Rattlesnake," Buck explained with a grin. Then he suddenly made a funny face. Turning his hat halfway around, he squared his shoulders. "Excuse me, boys. You see, my mother always claimed that whisky makes a man strong. She always claimed that," he insisted with an emphatic nod.

"Aguardiente makes man think he is strong," Sourdough replied calmly.

Buck looked at the boy in surprise. "Is that so? Who told you that?" he stammered.

"Padre. At mission."

"Well, that's nice." Buck hoped there was not a lecture coming. He suddenly remembered why he wanted nothing to do with the church. They banned everything which was fun. But since he had taken on responsibility for the Apache boys, he probably should set a good example. Buck looked regretfully down at his bottle. "Look, boys, I think we better mount up and vamonos. We go."

The Apaches went to their horses. Buck took a last swallow behind their backs, then climbed into the driver's seat. Shaking the reins, he moved his wagon to the grocery store.

Burton's poker friends meanwhile gathered at the saloon entrance and watched Buck give the Apaches instructions at Wiley's. The supplies were loaded onto the buckboard quickly, efficiently and without complaint. As if the three had been a team for years.

"I've never seen nothing like that before." Halliday stared with open mouth as the younger Cannon brother rode out of town with his Apaches.

Allison nodded, shoving his hands into the back pockets of his trouser. "You know, that Buck Cannon just might have something. I might take him up on that invitation."

Burton turned to the entrepreneur, a deadly serious expression on his face. "Allison, them two Apaches would cut your heart out the first chance they get. That's a fact." He threw a glance Buck's way. "I bet that Buck Cannon has got Injun blood," he muttered as he crossed the street and went to his office. Halliday followed him. Allison remained at the saloon entrance, staring thoughtfully at the ground.

Tuesday and Wednesday the entrepreneur had important business to attend to, but on Thursday Allison found the time to look Buck's Apaches over. He rigged up the wagon and drove to the High Chaparral. The road was not marked, but Allison knew he only had to drive due south to find the ranch. Fifteen miles from town, he suddenly heard war cries behind him. Allison shook the reins, hurrying the horses onwards. The High Chaparral was his only chance. But the terrain was too rocky for his vehicle. Allison cursed his laziness. Why had he taken the wagon? He would be a lot faster if he had just swung up on a horse. He cracked his whip and shouted for the horses to run for their lives, but the Apaches came ever closer. Then something hit him in the back. Hot pain lanced through him, and he could not move a single muscle any more. The reins slipped from his fingers; the light faded, together with his thoughts. Only the pain remained. After a while, that faded, too. Allison fell off the wagon and lay still. The Apaches reined in their ponies. They looked silently down at the white man, then rode away.

The next day a white-haired man came into town. Across the back of his donkey lay a blanket-wrapped corpse. The oldster stopped at the beginning of the main street where the blacksmith had his workshop. In no time a crowd gathered around him, including Burton and Halliday.

Burton lifted one end of the blanket to get a look at the dead man. A moment later he recoiled. "That's Allison," he exclaimed, then turned to the old man. "Where did you find him?"

"Right on the Chaparral spread." The man was a prospector who was searching for gold around Tucson. He produced a war lance. "This was in his back. I figured I'd take him to the sheriff."

"The sheriff ain't in town. Took off for Oracle this morning," Halliday informed him.

Burton took the lance, examining it grimly. Then he raised his head and looked at the bystanders. "I warned Allison. I tried to tell him. No, he said he was gonna see if there was any good in the Apaches. Well, I can tell you, there ain't. That is the proof." Strutting up and down in front of the citizens, Burton raised the lance over his head so that everyone could see it. "There are two Injuns riding the High Chaparral country free and easy. I got a good idea who killed Allison," he announced.

His audience nodded.

"Let's get them," Burton shouted.

But here the men balked.

"I think we should wait for the sheriff. It's his job to bring them to justice," Halliday summarised the murmurs.

A few days later the sheriff returned from Oracle. He was told about the incident, but refused to do anything. If it had truly been his Apaches, Big John would take care of the matter, he said and considered the case closed. His face reddening in anger, Burton turned on his heels and stormed into the saloon. In between his drinks, he badgered the townfolks until a couple of avenging angels agreed to ride with him.

On the Sanchez flats the Apache boys were still busy building a corral. Saddleblanket carried the beams from the buckboard while Sourdough dug the holes. Saddleblanket had just gone back to fetch the next beam when he saw four riders approaching. He called a warning to Sourdough and came to stand beside his friend. Wordlessly the Apache boys awaited the white men. The riders stopped in front of the corral fence.

"Look at them. Good as any other wranglers," Burton said contemptuously. "It's time someone gave you Apaches a lesson in frontier justice."

Sourdough dropped his shovel. When Burton and Halliday dismounted and stalked towards them, the Apaches pulled out their knives. Burton fired at their feet. "I wouldn't do that. Drop the knives," he ordered.

This morning John, Buck and Victoria were driving over the ranch in the wagon. Big John was more concerned about employing Apaches than he had Buck believe. Not wanting to leave his wife alone in the house, he had found all sorts of pretexts during the last few days to stay with Victoria and keep an eye on her. Today he was driving with her and Buck over his estate. Only Vaquero was in the house cooking dinner, armed to the teeth.

Victoria suddenly pointed ahead. "John, look."

Buck stood up in the back seat. He shaded his eyes with one hand to get a better look. John made an educated guess and cracked the whip over the horses' heads. "Forward, heya!"

The wagon sped across the pastures towards the corral, and the passengers saw the events clearly. A lasso had been tied to the roof of the horses' shelter. Burton was putting the noose around Sourdough's neck while Halliday fastened a second lasso to the roof. When the wagon stopped at the corral, the men looked around for the Cannon brothers.

"You're always out for trouble, aren't you, Burton?" Big John asked grimly. He walked past the man and freed Sourdough of the lasso, then calmly turned to the other lyncher. "Halliday, this is my land, these are my hands. Put that thing away."

Halliday lowered his revolver without a word.

Buck meanwhile faced Burton. "You picked a good day for it," he hissed. "What the devil are you trying to do?"

The man shrugged. Devil was the right word. "Jed Allison's been killed," he explained. "Some desert rat brung him into town a couple of days back. He was heading out to see your Apaches, Buck. He never made it." He threw Big John a quick glance. The rancher was standing beside the Apaches at the fence and watched the proceedings, showing no sign that he was about to interfere.

"Let me get this straight, Mr. Burton. You're saying that my boys, Sourdough and Saddleblanket, done that?" Buck asked softly.

Burton looked up blankly. "He was coming to see them, wasn't he? They are Apache, ain't they?" He went to his horse and produced the war lance. "Looky here. This here is an Apache war lance, ain't it? That's what killed Jed Allison."

Buck rolled his eyes. "Where you been lately, Burton? Drinkin' in Nogales? The army caught one of them raiding parties. They was sporting Allison's gun and holster." The Indians were now in some fort or other, awaiting their trial.

Halliday exchanged a surprised look with the other two members of the lynching party. They had not been told about that.

Burton merely shrugged. "What difference does that make?" he spit.

Buck shook his head. "It wouldn't matter to an Apache hater like you. It wouldn't matter if them poor boys," he nodded towards the fence where Saddleblanket and Sourdough stood, "was killers or preachers, Beelzebubs or Baptists. You'd still hate 'em, wouldn't you."

"They got the same blood as Chochise," Burton exclaimed heatedly, tapping Buck's shoulder with the lance.

"You're right, Burton." Buck nodded. Looking suddenly grim, he grabbed for the lance and threw it to the ground. "They sure do." He had barely spoken the last word when he attacked his opponent, letting his fist connect with the man's stomach. There were plenty of Apaches around, and not every warrior recognised Cochise as his leader or agreed with the current truce. Allison had simply become complacent and had, unfortunately, paid for this mistake with his life.

Burton reeled from the blow, but caught himself after a moment. He returned Buck's punch, and the brawl began.

"They're my boys! My boys!" Buck punctuated each shout with a punch until Burton went to his knees. Buck threw himself on his opponent and rolled with him on the ground. "You leave them alone," he hissed and struck again.

Half unconscious from the blows, Burton groped desperately for a weapon. His searching hand found a fist-sized stone. Grabbing it determinedly, he banged it against his opponent's hip. The pain immobilised Buck, and he fell back. Burton jumped to his feet, whipping out his revolver, but Sourdough swung his whip. The rawhide cord wrapped around Burton's wrist, and the gun clattered to the ground. An instant later Big John drew his revolver.

Buck stood up slowly. Handing Burton the dusty hat, he wordlessly signalled that the fight was over. His opponent put the Stetson on without comment. He also had enough. When he turned to leave, Buck nudged his shoulder, and Burton stopped. Not wanting the man to leave without a weapon for defence, Buck handed him the revolver back. Burton holstered his gun, mounted his horse and rode off with the others without a backward glance.

Big John watched the would-be lynchers go. Then he smiled at Sourdough, clasped the boy's shoulder and went back to the wagon. Panting and holding his aching hip, Buck picked his hat up with a groan. He sat down on the fence beside Sourdough and put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Thank you, Sourdough. I'm glad you're so handy with that rawhide. Don't you boys worry none about them pole cats coming back to bother you. They ain't gonna bother you no more, I'll see to that. You just keep up that good work. I'm mighty proud of you boys. I'm mighty proud of both of you." He nudged Saddleblanket's chest. "I have to be moving along, now. You finish up here, and I'll see you later. I'm proud of you," Buck repeated. He put on his hat and slowly followed his brother to the wagon.

Sourdough and Saddleblanket smilingly watched him go before they went back to work. They could come to like it here. At the mission they had learned to do the white man's work, but no white man there had ever tried to befriend them. They doubled their efforts, wanting to finish the corral until evening. Two hours later Sourdough hammered in the last nails while Saddleblanket took a sip from his canteen. When he put it down again, he saw the warriors on the hill. He elbowed Sourdough to alert him to the visitors, then clung to his canteen. The warriors rode towards them, stopping in front of the corral as Burton's lynch mob had.

"Take those silly hats off and follow us," the leader of the raiding party snarled at the boys.

Saddleblanket looked questioningly at his friend. He was a little older than Sourdough, but he usually let his friend take the lead so as not to appear better than him. Sourdough was still growing and had not yet reached his full strength. The boy nodded wordlessly, let his hat fall to the ground and went to his horse. Saddleblanket followed more slowly. He kept his eyes on the ground as they rode away with the warriors, knowing they had gone out of the frying pan into the fire. Except for Buck, nobody had wanted them on the ranch. And the free Apaches despised them because they were Mission Indians. But instead of leaving them alone, they bullied them as if they were their slaves. Saddleblanket sighed. It had happened again. Whenever he liked it somewhere and began to feel at home, someone came along and spoiled his fun.

In order to protect his livestock from Apaches and bandits, Big John had decreed that the cattle spend the night in a corral close to the house and be herded to remote pastures in the morning. Late this afternoon the ranch hands began to herd the cattle back to the corral. Sam suddenly reined his horse in and stared at the hilltop in front of them. As the rest of the crew approached, they spied the display as well and gasped in shock.

"Looks like it just happened," Joe said softly after a while. "An hour ago, I guess. Maybe two."

The others nodded. They herded the cattle around the hill while Sam rode ahead to inform Big John of the incident. Since it was not time for dinner yet, the rancher had taken his ledger books to the round table in the dining room and was indulging in his favourite pastime: book-keeping. Buck and Mano were sitting beside the fireplace and were trying for the umpteenth time to teach Blue the game of poker. Out of the corner of their eyes the three watched Sam enter the house, go to Big John and quietly converse with him.

After a moment of grim silence the rancher rose. "Buck, come with me," he ordered as he strode to the door. "Blue, you stay here."

John wanted to spare his son the sight. Buck, however, had to see with his own eyes what he had caused.

Mano jumped up. "I will go with you."

The rancher nodded his agreement. Buck threw John and Sam a questioning look, but got no answer. Sighing, he decided to be patient. They saddled their horses and rode off, following Sam. Below the hill they dismounted, tied their horses to some bushes and continued on foot. Once they reached the hilltop, they saw the slaughter. Buck lowered his head in shock. He felt the hostile looks the others shot him, but did not understand why they blamed him. Sure, he had quarrelled with Burton, but he had not wanted the man's death.

Manolito walked slowly over the hill, concentrating on the tracks. Picking up the war lance the Apaches had left behind, he went back to Big John. "They never had a chance," he said quietly.

"No, they didn't." John shook his head. Throwing Buck a stern glance, he walked over to Sam. "How many do you put to be in this Apache war party?"

The foreman shrugged thoughtfully. "About a dozen or so. These tracks show that a couple of their horses were shod."

Big John went grimly back to his brother. A tear was running down Buck's cheek, but John ignored it. "Well, where are your two Apaches now? They're not where we left them, where they're supposed to be," the rancher said stonily, arms crossed over his chest.

Buck raised his head. "I know what you're thinking, Big John, but they couldn't have nothing to do with this. Sourdough and Saddleblanket, they couldn't have killed Burton, Halliday and the others. They just couldn't have." Buck turned to his best friend. "Could they, Mano, hm? Could they?"

Manolito looked away. Only a fool would believe that these boys were innocent.

John was also waiting for Mano's answer. When his brother-in-law kept silent, he addressed Buck again: "We'll find out." He turned on his heel and walked back to the horses.

When John had left, Mano slowly came to Buck, war lance in hand and too angry to speak. He had witnessed more than one Apache raid as a child and had lost friends and relatives galore. People who had been alive one day had been put to rest the next. Everyone knew that the Apaches were hunters and warriors, that they would stoop to no other profession, but Buck did not want to admit that he had misjudged. He stuck by these murderers. Manolito threw the lance at Buck's feet, turned around without a word and followed John to the horses. Buck flinched and closed his eyes, feeling as if he had been gutted.

They rode back in silence. Sam went straight to the bunkhouse while John, Mano and Buck entered the ranch house. Blue had been waiting impatiently on the porch. One look at his elders told him that the three were having a row and that Buck had lost the argument. Blue decided to keep quiet so as not to unwittingly pour oil on the fire, and followed the men inside. He heard his father order Vaquero to see to their provisions. While the rancher went into his study to fetch a map, Buck, Mano and Blue were waiting in the living room.

Victoria joined them. "What happened?" she finally asked, her tone barely above a whisper.

"The Apaches killed Burton and his companions on the way back to Tucson," Manolito said tightly. "They cut them down on High Chaparral land."

Victoria and Blue winced in unison and looked to Buck. Before the man could say anything, Big John returned from the study. Spreading the map on the table, he stared at it for an eternity and finally waved Mano over. Buck also made to join them, but John told his brother with a glance that he was not welcome at this council of war. And Mano did not argue. This hurt Buck most of all. He sat down on the stairs, put his head in his hands and listened uneasily from afar.

Big John bent back down over the map. "What do you think, Mano, where will they ride from here?"

"Most likely they will cross Aravaipa Creek, then head into the spurs of the Pinaleño Mountains." Mano followed the route with his index finger.

"That's pretty mean country, isn't it?" the rancher asked. They had once tried to find a path through it but had not managed to explore more than a few miles. Soldado and a sandstorm had forced them to give up. Still, even the outskirts had been pretty rough.

Mano nodded. "That's how the Apache like it. No one will follow them out there."

"What about this fort here?" John pointed to a spot marked "Fort Ajo" halfway between the High Chaparral and the mountains.

Manolito shrugged. "It used to be important, but it's almost abandoned now. There is just a small garrison there." He looked worriedly at John.

"How far do you put it from the Pinaleños?" the rancher asked.

"A hard day's ride."

Big John straightened. "You tell the men to stand ready. We're moving out."

Mano nodded matter-of-factly. "Right." He went to the door, ignoring Buck. Victoria caught her brother's arm and looked at him questioningly. Smiling at her, Mano patted her hand reassuringly before he left the house.

John meanwhile turned to his son, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Blue, I know you want to go along, but I need you here, boy. You stand watch here." Together with Vaquero.

"Yes, sir," nodded Blue.

Victoria stepped towards her husband. "John, isn't this a job for the army?"

The rancher shook his head. "No. The massacre happened on my land. If I need help, I can get it from the military at the fort." He hugged his wife and kissed her on the cheek. "Take care."

Buck half rose when his brother marched past him. "John, I-"

"I don't have a thing to say to you, Buck," Big John cut him off and left the house.

Buck shook his head speechlessly. When he finally stood up to follow his brother, Victoria stroked his arm in sympathy.

"Excuse me." Buck briefly lifted his hat and left as well.

Victoria watched him go, then she sadly lowered her head. Buck had just apologised for getting her into danger. Victoria wished the apology had been unnecessary. She, too, had believed that the boys were harmless drifters. She went to the window and stared out thoughtfully. The High Chaparral crew was about to leave. John and Sam rode in the lead, then the men followed. Mano and Buck formed the rear-guard. Buck constantly searched his surroundings and avoided looking at his brother-in-law. Again and again he remembered Mano glaring at him and how his friend had thrown the war lance at his feet. Like a gauntlet, Buck thought sadly.

At sundown they bivouacked in the protection of some rocks. John handed out dinner and appointed guards. The men remained mostly silent, keeping away from Buck. Mano, too, kept his distance. But he watched, and he listened.

After dinner Buck poured two cups of coffee. One he brought Sam who stood guard on the south side of the camp. The foreman accepted the cup, took a sip and turned away without a word. Buck stood there for a moment, unsure what to do. Then he went hesitantly on to Joe who guarded the north side of the camp. Joe saw Buck coming. His rifle slung over his shoulder, he shook his head and pointedly turned his back on the other man. Sighing, Buck took his mug to Big John. The rancher was sitting on a stone on the west side of the camp, cleaning his revolver with a vengeance.

"John, would you like some coffee?" Buck held out the cup to him.

"No, thanks", the rancher replied curtly without looking up.

"Brother John." Buck took a sip himself. When his brother continued to ignore him, he began to rub his forehead. "John, I just got to talk to you," he pleaded.

"There's nothing to talk about, Buck." Big John briefly lifted his head. "If they were in on this, we'll find out," he explained as he saw Buck's astonished face.

His brother relaxed a little and shook his head. "I didn't expect it from you, John."

"What didn't you expect from me?" The rancher had taken his revolver apart and was still intent on cleaning it.

"You're always talking about friendship with the Apach," his brother began slowly. "About working together, helping each other."

Big John nodded vigorously. "That's right. But that doesn't apply to killers."

Buck took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. "You ain't got proof, John," he said quietly and took another sip of his coffee. "Oh, they're gone all right. They're good and gone. Even Sam- Sam thinks that they was in on it." Actually, Buck had intended to mention Manolito, but he could not get the name out, and so he left it at Sam.

John finally looked up. "And you don't?"

"No, I don't, John," Buck said firmly. "I truly don't. And you never give 'em a chance."

Big John shot his brother a questioning look, then went back to cleaning his gun. "Will you talk sense?"

Buck closed his eyes for a moment. "Well, I try. Sourdough and Saddleblanket, they're a couple of youngsters," he explained haltingly. "They just happen to be a couple of drifters."

"How come, Buck, you know so much about these drifters?"

Buck smiled a little. They had finally reached the crux of the matter. He raised the cup again to take another sip. "Aw, John, 'cause I'm a drifter, too. I'm just a saddle tramp."

John looked up quizzically.

Mano had realised that ages ago, Buck mused, thinking that his brother should know him at least as well as his brother-in-law. Shaking his head in bewilderment, he chuckled softly. "What do you think I be, John? What I am is... looking for something- something better. And with you - High Chaparral, Blue Boy, Victoria, Don Sebastian, Manolito, the bunkhouse boys... Well, you're all something better. All of you." Buck squirmed. "But John, without you- I don't know."

Seeing that his brother had become thoughtful, Buck took one last sip, then poured the remaining coffee to the ground and looked soberly back up. "'Cause I'm a drifter."

And his time here was up. They had made it clear enough that they did not want him around, that they did not value his judgement any more. It seemed like a miracle that they would let him do guard duty at all tonight. Buck grimaced. Big John probably did not have enough men to do without him. And he would not stand guard alone, so it was a calculated risk. Buck walked a few paces away from camp and looked up at the stars, then stared longingly off into the distance. The urge to just ride away was almost overwhelmingly strong. Heaving a sigh, he decided to wait a little longer. First, their honour had to be restored - the Apache boys' and his own. Then he would be free to go.

At sunrise they started out again. This time, Mano rode ahead as scout. At a rock he stopped and waited for the others to catch up. When Buck looked questioningly at him, Mano threw him a pair of suede pants. Buck stared speechlessly for a moment, then made to answer the man, but Manolito had already turned away. John drew near the next instant. He saw his brother holding the pants in his hand, a perplexed expression on his face.

"Sourdough's chaps," Buck finally got out. "But my boys liked these chaps, John. They wouldn't of thrown them away without a reason."

John eyed his brother as if the man had gone mad.

"There's something wrong," Buck concluded thoughtfully.

"Sam." Joe, who had been looking for sign among the rocks, held up a feather with a red-coloured tip.

The foreman examined it closely, then looked to his boss. "They can't be too far ahead of us, Mr. Cannon."

"Give them a chance," the rancher decreed.

That would likely be the only concession his brother would make. Buck raised his head, a bit surprised that John would make it at all. Looking back at the chaps, he held them up in the air as the others rode past him. "Sam, Joe! You know they wouldn't throw away good leather like that!" Buck shouted in an attempt to bolster John's decision. When nobody answered him, he followed the others with a sigh.

After a while they noticed Manolito. The Mexican was leaning on a rock at the edge of a clearing and watching the fort through his binoculars.

John reined his horse in beside his brother-in-law. "What's wrong?"

Mano shrugged. "It's too quiet." Secretly he admitted that Buck was right. Something really seemed to be wrong.

"I'm gonna have a look at that." The rancher dismounted and grabbed the binoculars. The rest of the crew dismounted as well. Only Buck remained on horseback.

"Yeah, that is unusual," Big John concurred after a moment. "No sentry, no flag."

Mano drew his pistola and fired off a shot. Nothing stirred.

The rancher shook his head, handing the binoculars back. "And there is still no one. I'll better go have a look."

"I'll go," Buck said firmly and rode off before anyone could protest. He stopped next to some bushes which grew in the middle of the clearing, about twelve yards from the rock.

"Mano, gimme that." Reno grabbed for the binoculars and looked through them. "Mr. Cannon," he exclaimed suddenly.

"Yeah?" Big John asked.

"Something is moving up there."

"Let me see." John directed the binoculars to the wall of the fort. Uniformed men appeared on the battlements. The movements could now be seen with the naked eye. Sam and Pedro threw each other a puzzled look, then turned their attention back to the fort.

Buck saw these movements as well and rode a few more paces forward. "Hey, you soldier boys, open the gate! I want to talk to you," he shouted.

In answer, a shot rang out, and Buck fell off his horse. The High Chaparral crew dove for cover as a hail of bullets beat down on them. Mano remained pressed to the rock, providing covering fire so that his brother-in-law could crawl into the bushes.

"I wish I could get my hands on those trigger-happy soldiers. I'd break their necks," Big John grumbled. He stuck his head out, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Now, hold your fire!" A bullet ricocheted off the rock inches above his head. "Stop it!" the rancher shouted once more and quickly dove for cover again.

From the battlements the leader of the raiding party looked at the soldiers who lay dead on the ground. A scout had sneaked into the garrison the night before and had freed the imprisoned Apaches. After having cut down the fifteen soldiers, they had opened the gate. The raiding party had intended to rest for a few hours, then plunder the fort and set it afire. But during their siesta, the men of the High Chaparral had surprised them. The leader had ordered his warriors to put on the uniforms to deceive the pursuers. He nodded to the two Mission Indians. Sourdough and Saddleblanket climbed up the ladder and came to stand beside him.

As Buck crawled through the tall grass, he saw movement on the battlements. Leaning on his right elbow, he squinted up against the sun. Finally he recognised the schemes. "Sourdough, what you doing up there? You be careful, little Sourdough," Buck whispered. When the leader levelled his rifle at him and fired, he flopped back down into the grass.

Manolito looked through the binoculars, tracking Buck. Then he raised the glasses until he could see the men on the battlements. The next moment he elbowed his brother-in-law in the ribs. "John."

"They're Indians," the rancher exclaimed as he looked through the glasses to the wall. "That explains it."

"They're playing with him. They will let the sun finish him off," Manolito said tightly. It was not even noon yet. The worst heat was still to come.

Reno turned to him. "Do you think we can get across that clearing?"

Manolito blinked, regretting his quarrel with Buck. He feared that his brother-in-law would not survive this adventure. Buck had to be injured, Mano reflected, otherwise he would already have tried to get to them. And it could not be just a scratch. Buck was pretty tough. The question was whether he would still be alive at sunset. Manolito's heart plummeted. Buck was his friend. How could he have forgot that? A second thought made Mano gasp. Buck had considered himself expendable. Perhaps that was the reason why he had been hit. Under normal circumstances he would have been too cautious to ride openly to the fort.

"Mr. Cannon, if I ride fast with cover, I might be able to reach him. Let me try," Mano pleaded.

The rancher gravely shook his head. "No. That's my job."

John mounted his horse and galloped towards Buck while the others provided covering fire. When the hail of bullets got too thick, the rancher pulled his horse to the ground, used it as cover and ran on all fours to his brother.

"Let's get out of here." John grabbed Buck's arm to pull him along, but encountered an unexpected difficulty: his brother did not seem to notice him. John lay down beside Buck, unsure what he should do. He could not go back any more. The element of surprise was lost.

Buck crawled doggedly through the grass but did not make a sound. It was paramount that the Apaches be kept ignorant of his injury. After a while he realised that someone was with him. Stopping, he raised his head. When he finally recognised the man, he took his hat off with a groan. "Brother John, there must be an easier way for you to come calling."

John examined his brother, trying to figure out what was wrong. As his eyes fell on Buck's right leg, he paled and hastily untied his bandana. "We need to bind that."

"No," Buck gasped. "Go back!"

Ignoring the command, John tied the cloth around the injured leg. "Now, tell me when it's tight."

Buck gasped again and squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh, that feels fine, John."

"We're gonna have to wait until night, then try to crawl out of here," the rancher commented as he staunched the bleeding.

Buck looked seriously at his brother. "It won't work, John."

The rancher grimaced. "It's got to work."

Leaning on his right forearm, Buck shook his head. "It won't work," he repeated, sounding deadly serious.

"Why not?"

"There's only one way. That gate's gotta be opened by somebody from inside."

The rancher looked at his brother quizzically. "Who is gonna do that?"

"John, look up there." Groaning, Buck pulled himself up into a sitting position and pointed to the battlements. "Sourdough, I know you're up there! I see you! Hey, Sourdough," he shouted across the clearing.

The boy gave no indication that he had even heard the man.

"Answer him," the leader of the raiding party eventually commanded in Apache.

"What do you want?" the boy impassively called down to Buck.

"Can that war party savvy English?" Buck called up again.

Sourdough shook his head. "No," he replied firmly.

Buck took a deep breath. "They all say that you and Saddleblanket helped with that massacre. Well, I know that ain't true. I just know it."

Buck paused to give Sourdough the opportunity to tell him otherwise. When no answer was forthcoming, he continued haltingly: "I was thinking this is a bad day for a thirst. It's awful hot. Maybe they got some red-eye in that fort. Some whisky. There always is in a fort. You think maybe you and Saddleblanket can open it and spread it around the boys up there? And bring it down through the gate, one of you? Then one of you can open that gate from inside and come on out. You hear me, Sourdough?"

The boy did not react.

"What does he say?" the leader asked impatiently.

Sourdough grimaced almost imperceptibly. "He wants us to go back to the white eyes."

"Answer him accordingly."

Sourdough raised his rifle and sent a bullet in Buck's direction. Saddleblanket also took his turn. Buck gave them a disappointed look, then he collapsed. John had been right. The Apache boys had played him for a fool. Better to pillage in freedom than to work in captivity, that was the motto of every warrior. Buck could kick himself that he had not wanted to believe that.

John put a comforting hand on his brother's arm. He shook Buck's shoulder when he saw Sourdough and Saddleblanket disappear from the battlements. Buck looked up briefly but kept his face impassive. They would have to wait and see what the boys would do. He bit back the pain and dozed in the hot midday sun. Tonight he would need his strength if his plan did not work.

Sourdough and Saddleblanket searched quietly for the storage room. Once they found it, Sourdough guarded the entrance while Saddleblanket looked for the right bottles. Judging from the smell, the small, bulbous ones with the cork had to be it. He grabbed two of them. Handing one of the bottles to Sourdough, he left the room. Outside, the boys leaned their guns against the wall and looked up to the battlements. Taking a sip, Saddleblanket raised his bottle in triumph. "Aguardiente!"

Deafening cheers answered him, and the warriors started to leave their posts. The boys threw the bottles to them and raced back for more. Before long, drunken shouts rose into the air. Outside, the High Chaparral crew waited, their feelings swinging wildly between expectation and disbelief. Only the leader was still on guard, looking more than a trifle annoyed as he wordlessly watched his men. He was well aware that this was not the time for drinking. But he also knew that he had lost his command to the alcohol and that his warriors would not listen to him.

Saddleblanket played drunk. He walked unsteadily up the ladder, holding a bottle under the warrior's nose. "A-diente," he slurred. But the leader shoved him aside again and again. Sourdough meanwhile stealthily removed the bar from the gate and noiselessly pushed the wings open.

"Buck." Big John shook his brother's shoulder.

"Hm?" Buck mumbled sleepily as he turned on his back.

John pointed in disbelief to the gate which swung slowly open.

Mano shook himself and nudged Reno's shoulder. "Vamonos."

The men of the High Chaparral galloped into the fort just as Sourdough opened the second half of the gate. The ranch hands had come to fight, but the Apaches were too drunk to defend themselves effectively and did not give them much trouble. The leader watched it all without stirring a muscle. Convinced that the danger was over, Saddleblanket went back down the ladder and strode towards the gate.

"Buck! Buck!" Sourdough was already running across the clearing. Buck awaited him smilingly.

Hearing the call, the leader shook off his lethargy, turned around and grabbed his gun. "You worthless dog!" He aimed, squeezed off a quick shot, and Sourdough collapsed in the middle of the clearing, just a few yards from Buck. The Cannon brothers froze.

"Come on." John pulled himself together after a moment and hurried to the boy. Buck followed him as fast as his injury permitted.

In the fort Ira looked up in shock. They had been so intent on the Apache warriors on the ground that they had completely overlooked the leader on the battlements. Ira took aim and fired; the warrior fell.

Meanwhile, Buck and John reached Sourdough and turned the boy gently on his back. Saddleblanket approached them as well but hesitantly stopped a few paces before them. John pulled the boy down beside him. Together they watched as Buck took Sourdough in his arms.

Coughing weakly, the injured boy opened his eyes. "They find us. They make us come," he whispered and looked Buck in the eyes. His voice grew fainter. "This is the first time white eyes make me feel like man, not animal. You are- You are friend. Friend."

As his eyes closed, Buck leaned over him in desperation. "Sourdough, you can't do that. You can't."

The rancher looked up at the other boy. "He was a good man, Saddleblanket."

"My name - my Apache name - is Bee-chu-om," the boy said haltingly. Tears were welling up in his own eyes, but he held them back with all his might.

The rancher lowered his head. This was intended for Buck. John did not ask for a translation, knowing that Saddleblanket would not tell him. And Buck did not respond. He held Sourdough in his arms, weeping as if he had lost a son.

Saddleblanket finally pulled himself together and went to get the horses. Once Buck had calmed down, they wrapped Sourdough in a blanket and laid him across the horse's back. Buck mounted with John's help, took the reins and silently rode back to the ranch. After the High Chaparral crew had buried the soldiers and the Apaches, they followed Buck home. At the ranch they dug another grave, then withdrew discreetly.

Buck and Saddleblanket buried the boy beside Annalee and Johnny Kelso. John and Mano hesitantly drew near, but Buck shot them such an angry glance that they raised their hands placatingly and watched from the porch. Victoria was allowed to stay. Buck wanted only Sourdough's friends present at the funeral. Taking off his hat, he murmured a short prayer, then stared absently into the open grave. He had survived a hail of bullets with only a leg wound while Sourdough had died from a single shot. It just was not fair. Buck would have given his life for the boy.

Having finished his own prayer, Saddleblanket took a handful of earth and let it run through his fingers, startling Buck out of his thoughts. Sighing, he took the shovel and filled the grave.

Victoria had invited Saddleblanket to dinner, and the Apache boy had accepted. At six o'clock they all stood around the table until the lady of the house had sat down. Then the men took their seats as well. Buck fastened the napkin on the collar of his shirt and noisily began to eat his soup. When Saddleblanket sat down, Buck paused for a moment, fastening Saddleblanket's napkin on the boy's collar. Saddleblanket immediately took the napkin off again. He put it on his lap instead, then slowly began to eat, extending his little finger like an English aristocrat. He was sitting bolt upright and raising the spoon to his mouth instead of bending down to the plate. Buck watched him speechlessly and tried to imitate him. The rest of the dinner party had to smile. Saddleblanket took his napkin, dabbing his mouth with it. Buck did the same. Saddleblanket blew on the soup to cool it before he ate it. Buck copied him in this, too.

John turned smilingly to his son. "Blue, would you pass me the bread? Thank you." He took the basket and held it out to the Apache boy. "Saddleblanket?"

The boy shook his head, and John passed it on. "Victoria?"

His wife took a slice. "Thank you, John."

Despite the initial ease, it became a very silent dinner. Nobody found a safe topic, and therefore, nobody spoke. The Apache boy had learned, however, that one was not supposed to talk during a meal. He appreciated the silence.

After dinner John offered Saddleblanket the guest room. Buck shot his brother a sardonic look. "You can bunk with me," he told the Apache boy. Saddleblanket nodded gratefully. He did not want to be alone in this house.

The next day right after breakfast Saddleblanket rode back to the mission. He felt that Buck had to come to terms with the events and that it would not help if he stayed. Besides, he had to break the news of their son's death to Sourdough's parents. And he had some mourning to do himself. He and Sourdough had grown up together. Ten years ago their parents had settled at the mission. They had given up the free life and had sent their sons to school. Learning had been fun. Until the teachers had punished them once too often. From then on they had finished school as fast as possible and had chosen a trade. They had been so proud when they had earned their first money. Sometimes, however, the padres had given Sourdough tasks which were too strenuous for him. Saddleblanket had often helped his friend, overtaxing himself in the process. Since they had been rather slow, the padres had employed them only once in a while. The intermittent time they had gone hungry and had begun to steal cattle.

Buck accompanied Saddleblanket to the door to tell him goodbye. Shaking hands with him, the boy gave his friend a worried once-over. "You're sick."

Buck smiled slightly. "It's nothing. A little heartache maybe." He threw Saddleblanket a sharp look. Feeling at a loss, the boy nodded, jumped onto his horse and rode away.

Buck rode his shift despite his leg wound. When the others tried to talk to him, he kept silent or simply rode off. Finally they confined themselves to watching Buck from afar. After two days Manolito realised what was wrong. Buck had not retired to one of his hiding places as he usually did when he was wrestling with a problem, but was staying near the house. Mano decided to follow his brother-in-law when the man had again gone his own way during their break. He saw Buck sitting on a stone in the middle of the river, cooling his leg in the water and gingerly touching his calf. As soon as Buck noticed his brother-in-law, he got up and rode away. Manolito watched with a frown how Buck mounted his horse. He made Rebel sit on its hind legs and stood over the saddle. He also seemed to direct his steed only with the reins and verbal commands and not with the legs as it was usually done. Not wanting to spook the man, Mano gave Buck a lot of head-start before he followed him.

Buck rode slowly back to the ranch. "Vaquero," he shouted once he had dismounted. "I think there's a bullet in my leg. Feels like it, at any rate. You've got to get it out. Come on." He limped to his room, tied his leg to the bedpost and lay face down on the bed. Vaquero hesitated.

"Get on with it," Buck ordered impatiently.

Vaquero heated his knife over the candle flame. He poured whisky over the blade to disinfect it, and pushed it gently into the wound. Buck winced once, then lay still. Before long, the blade hit something hard. Taking out a piece of metal, Vaquero held it up. "This is not a bullet, but a splinter. Someone must have shot with lead," he said thoughtfully. Turning to the head of the bed, he realised that Buck had lost consciousness.

Right at that moment Manolito opened the door to Buck's room. He saw Vaquero holding a bloody knife in his hand, and froze on the threshold.

Vaquero straightened. "I just dug this out of the wound," he explained calmly, holding out his hand.

Mano came to the bed to examine the piece of metal. Putting the knife on the nightstand, Vaquero began to dress Buck's leg. Mano helped him. When they were done and had made the man as comfortable as they could, Vaquero put a hand on Buck's forehead. "He is running a fever," he said worriedly.

Manolito sighed. "And he won't accept any help."

"Can you blame him?" Vaquero asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

Mano sadly shook his head. "I'll talk to him when he wakes up."

Vaquero nodded and left the room. Manolito put a cold wash cloth on Buck's forehead. Then he sat down in the chair next to the window and kept watch. From time to time he came to the bed to cool the wash cloth again. After a while Mano noticed that his brother-in-law was no longer unconscious, but asleep. Manolito smiled in relief. He sat back down in the chair and began to think. He remembered the circumstances under which they had met the first time: the rurales had been about to hang Mano for killing one of their officers. Buck and John had come to the rescue. Buck had never asked Manolito why he had quarrelled with the rurales officer and how the man had died. He had simply assumed that it had been an accident, that Mano was not a cold-blooded killer. He had believed the same of the Apache boys. And he had been right in both cases. Mano sighed. Buck had a soft heart. Big John, too, but he always required persuasion. Buck, on the other hand, came up with the craziest ideas to help his friends, or even strangers. He saw the goodness in people, but he was no fool. Mano hung his head. He should have known that. He remembered the widow from Red Rock. Buck had defended Melanie only so long as he had been convinced of her innocence. When he had had evidence that she did business with bandits, he had chased her off the ranch. He should have waited for proof before judging Buck, Manolito berated himself. Now he did not even know whether his brother-in-law would ever talk to him again.

And if Buck really had been wrong, would he have ended their friendship? Manolito shook his head with a sigh. The question was moot. When Buck had gone down at the fort, his anger had vanished like a puff of smoke. Nobody was perfect, after all.

Mano cooled the wash cloth once more. Then he sat on the bed and put it back on his brother-in-law's forehead. The touch woke Buck; their eyes met. Manolito smiled tentatively. "Hey, amigo. How are you feeling?"

His face remaining impassive, Buck lowered his eyes. He felt too weary to talk.

"I'm sorry, compadre," Manolito apologised.

Buck took a deep breath and pulled himself together. "It's all right, Mano. Who would have guessed that Apaches would behave civilly," he replied softly.

Manolito winced. He lowered his eyes, nodded and started to get up. Buck grabbed Mano's forearm to hold him back. In turn, Manolito's hand closed automatically around Buck's arm.

"I wasn't trying for sarcasm, Mano," Buck said gravely. "Our experiences with them weren't exactly a walk in the park, so far."

Mano looked up. "But you believed them. And you were right."

Buck shrugged. "I could have been wrong. It might have been a ruse."

"Then why did you defend them so?" Manolito asked in confusion.

"Because that never occurred to me until we reached the fort." Until Sourdough had shot at him. Buck sadly turned his head away. He should never have let the boys work alone on the ranch. But he had desperately wanted to prove to John that they were trustworthy. Besides, he could not have known that Burton had wanted to hang them, on Chaparral land, no less. It had been a lucky coincidence that they had come in time to prevent the deed. Nor could he have known that a group of renegade Apaches would kidnap the boys. If he had stayed with them, the Apaches might have left Sourdough and Saddleblanket alone, Buck thought morosely. Or they would have killed him just like they had massacred the four from Tucson and would have taken the boys, anyway.

Mano scrutinised his brother-in-law. Buck did not even look at him any more. Manolito swallowed. He mustered all his courage and addressed the topic which troubled him the most. "I guess you are mad at me because I did not stand by you," he said softly, lowering his head.

Buck turned back to his brother-in-law. He felt Mano's hand clench around his forearm, but Manolito did not seem to be aware of this at all. "The way I see it, you simply took a different point of view," Buck replied calmly. "As is your right."

Mano looked up in astonishment. "You mean we are still friends?" he asked guardedly.

Buck needed a moment to understand the words. Then he nodded in relief and made the Indian sign for brothers. He had not been sure whether Mano would ever talk to him again after what had happened. He still saw all too vividly in his mind's eye how Mano had thrown the war lance at his feet.

Mano smiled back in relief, then his face turned sad. "Of course we are friends," he said softly. "You need a friend so desperately that you accept even me."

Buck shrugged. "So what? You saying it's different for you?"

Manolito shook his head, wiping his suddenly damp eyes with his sleeve. He vowed that he would take care of Buck until his friend was back on his feet. The same way as Buck had taken care of him when he had passed the Apaches' test of courage and the ride home and the blood loss had almost killed him.

When Buck was well again, things were still not back to normal. Buck had forgot how to laugh. For two weeks he tried to keep it together, but his gaze strayed towards the horizon again and again. One day Big John noted that his brother had come to a decision. When Buck opened his mouth after dinner, the rancher spoke up himself. "Buck, I want you to find a way for the cattle drive. You know, the pass we could not explore because of Soldado. I want you to try again."

John estimated that the trek would take three or four weeks. Buck would be able to ride for days without saying a word. It would give him a chance to come to terms with the events.

"I will go with him," Manolito put in firmly.

"Yeah, all right," the rancher nodded, then turned back to his brother. "Who else do you want to take with you?"

Buck sullenly shrugged his shoulders. "Whoever you can spare." He threw his napkin down and went to the porch. Leaning against a pillar, he stared angrily over the ranch.

Buck was not sure he wanted to take on this job. He would rather go his own way, at least for a while. For two weeks he had tried to get a grip on himself, but the wanderlust was stronger. Suddenly he heard footsteps. Turning around, he found himself face to face with Mano and Victoria. The Montoya siblings were looking at him pleadingly. The similarity between them was so striking at the moment that Buck almost smiled, and his anger melted. He nodded reassuringly to them, kissed Victoria on the cheek, put a hand on Mano's shoulder and went to bed.

 _To be continued in "Little Bit":_

Big John sent Sam and Pedro along. It was important that Sam and Buck got along, or there would be trouble with the ranch hands, and then one of them would have to leave. But John could not do without his foreman. Pedro was supposed to cheer them all up. They left at dawn...

13


End file.
